What Goes Around Comes Around
by Choice
Summary: Dave gets a taste of his own medicine, served up Puckerman style. -Dub-con and mentions of violence/bullying.


**What Goes Around (Comes Around)**

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Trying my hand at Dave Karofsky, I give you the first one-shot in a Puckurtofsky series I'm tentatively starting. Enjoy!

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_'Cause I know that you're living a lie  
That's okay baby 'cause in time you will find  
What goes around, goes around, goes around  
__Comes all the way back around_

"What Goes Around... Comes Around" - Justin Timberlake

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Dave waited until the locker room was blissfully empty before resting his forehead against the metal door with a shaky sigh. They won the championships.

They _won._

Everyone had been riding on waves of euphoria from the field to the showers. That rush was the only logical explanation for why Z and the boys were out with the gleeks at the local pizza joint, back-slapping and laughing like old friends.

Dave waved everyone off, citing his uptight father and mentioning something vague about a doctor's appointment in the morning. (It wasn't actually a lie. He had therapy scheduled for tomorrow at twelve, but no one needed to know that.)

He'd had his own adrenalin stint, but it met an abrupt death at the sight of a blue blazer and freakishly cute coiffed hair. As he watched Kurt from the bleachers as inconspicuously as he could, he couldn't help but wistfully realize that Kurt pulled off the tousled, wind-blown look just as fucking well as any of his stupid designer bullshit. (He noticed that stupid little gay dwarf, too-the one who Dave wish he could blame for Kurt being gone.)

And so here he was, sighing and working his way up to a "Woe is me" pity party for one. The setting was purely coincidental and horribly ironic; he couldn't look at the bay of lockers without remembering that day, the fucking day everything went to shit.

He imagined the way Kurt's scathing insults had bounced off the walls and cut into his skin until it felt like the pretty-boy was right there, standing in front of him with his shrieking voice and narrowed eyes of ice.

It hurt to remember, sure, but it wasn't _all_ bad…

Kurt's lips had been just as soft as he'd imagined. Not that he thought about that shit too often, but-well, it had been nice. Kurt was soft and minty, and his jaw had been bony but smooth in Dave's big hands. The mere memory was enough to stir up a cloud of arousal, even in his thick haze of misery so-being a teenage boy and all-Dave sighed and decided it wouldn't be any worse to jerk off to his first guy kiss in this fucking locker room, the scene of the crime, than it had been when he was in his bed, in his shower at home or in his truck parked behind one of the school dumpsters. (Oh, the irony.)

He reached for his shorts when someone slammed the locker room door open with a loud _bang_. Dave flinched and yelped out a curse. "Who the-"

"Karofsky, where the hell are you?"

Dave frowned, looking around the corner. "Puckerman?"

"_There_ you are. Fucking coward," he said, marching up to Dave without any hesitation. Not many guys did that, and _nobody_ did that shit and walked away in one piece. Dave scowled and rushed forward, intent on giving the smug bastard a little taste of The Fury. (Sure, Puck was rumored to have been in Lima's mysterious fight club, but Dave had height and weight on the douche.)

The move was eerily similar, the classic shoulder-bump. It reminded Dave of a ridiculously yellow trench coat and primped hair. It made him cringe a little on the inside, but he reminded himself that Puck was nothing like Kurt. For one, Puck was all hard muscle and raw strength, so when Dave pushed him Puck hardly budged. He didn't hit the lockers with a loud, painful-sounding _wham_ like Kurt had; Puck just locked his knees, tightened his jaw and _pushed back._ There was a pissed-off, heated look in the hazel eyes that met Dave's without hesitation.

Puck was nothing like Kurt… so why the fuck was Dave getting that funny feeling in his chest?

"You think you can bully _me,_ Karofsky?" Puck demanded, oblivious to Dave's panic. "Think you can just shove me away and forget about it? Forget it, man. I got fucking beef with you."

"What the hell do you have against me, Puckerman?" Dave shouted as he stepped away. He quickly decided that looking like a pussy wasn't nearly as bad as having Puck find out about Dave's… _little problem._

"Kurt," Puck said fiercely, his expression all tightly-wound righteous fury. Dave's eyes couldn't help but flicker down to Puck's angular jawbone, his Adam's apple, a patch of missed stubble peppering one cheek… Oh dear fucking _hell_, why?

"What _about_ fairy-boy?"

"You messed with my _fairy-boy_, and now, Dave? You're gonna pay." He stepped back into Dave's personal space like a man on a mission.

Dave gaped, trying to back up but backtracking into the lockers instead. "…What? H-how?"

Puck smirked. "Think of it as... what goes around comes back around."

That was all the warning he got before Puck slammed into Dave, lips-first.

Dave was frozen, rooted in place as Puck roughly tugged Dave's lip and forced his tongue into Dave's mouth. He couldn't move away or shove Puck back, not because he couldn't, but-well, he really _couldn't_. His blood felt icy and he wasn't sure if his heart had stopped or not.

He was… he was _scared_. Dave was scared because Puck was in control, Puck _wasn't_ scared, Puck didn't hesitate just because Dave was a guy with a dick… but most of all? Dave was scared because he sort of _liked_ what Puck was doing.

That same pathetically broken noise rose from somewhere in-between his chest and his toes, rushing past his occupied mouth without a warning. Puck stopped and his lips left Dave's with a wet _pop_. Dave couldn't make himself open his eyes to look at the other guy. He couldn't find the courage to be willing to face disgust and vengeful mirth, not when he already had a pretty good idea that Puck was going to leave and laugh about what a closeted weenie-freak Dave was with his friends.

Only Puck didn't go. He didn't push Dave away or tell Dave no, but then again this was totally different from how shit with Kurt went down. With a jarring sense of _Holy fucking shit_, Dave realized he was in Kurt's shoes._He_ was being accosted without his consent, _he_ was being held down, _he_was the one being kissed.

And he _liked_ it.

His eyes flew open, and the sound that bubbled past his lips just then was more like a sob. Puck looked confused, suspicious and… strangely blank. There wasn't any deviousness in his expression, but there wasn't _want_there, either. Dave didn't know why that was a bad thing. "This is _so. Fucking. Messed up-!_"

Puck let Dave push him away but he didn't leave like Dave expected him to. He just stood off to the side, arms folded and leaning against the lockers as he watched Dave shiver like a pathetic, scared little animal. "_What's_ so messed up?" he asked carefully. He sounded curious, nothing more.

"This, I-_this!_" he angrily gestured between them, cursing the tears running down his face. He was an ugly crier-he got all red in the face, his nose would run like a marathon runner, and… just _ew._ Kurt… Kurt looked pretty when he cried, even if seeing him cry made Dave feel a little guilty. "I'm not supposed to… to…"

"Man, Kurt was right."

He perked up like a dog at Kurt's name. So fucking pathetic. "What did Hummel fucking tell you?" he growled to cover his fear.

"He didn't need to tell me shit, stupid. I was _here_ when it happened." Dave didn't need to ask what 'it' Puck was talking about; the meaningful, disappointed look in Puck's eyes spoke volumes. Suddenly, all the head-shakes and frowns Puck had been giving him added up to something that made sense. A dazed, monochromatic epiphany, Dave looked back upon those times with detached realization. A sort of _Oh, well that makes sense now _feeling overcame him.

Like many other emotions Dave covered his surprise with anger. "So then why didn't you do this faggy little intervention _before_ Kurt transferred, huh?"

"Kurt had to get out," Puck said. The simplicity of it stung Dave something fierce. "You're a live wire, Karofsky. Keeping Kurt here was a dumbfuck idea."

Dave shot his glare down at the tiled floor. "Well you made a point, you got your revenge," he said in a strangled voice. "Now just fucking _go._"

Puck pushed off of the lockers, and when Dave looked up from the boy's Converse to his face he physically recoiled from the predatory smirk on Puck's face. "What if I don't want to?" he asked with a hint of a dare. "What then?"

_What then?_ Dave swallowed, feeling himself step on dangerously shaky grounds. "I-I don't…" His voice trailed off into the dwindling space between them. Puck was all up in his grill again, breathing his air and brushing their fronts together ever so slightly. Dave subtly angled his hips away from Puck, red in the face from a dizzying mix of humiliation and lust.

"Tell me you don't want it," Puck breathed. "I'm giving you a chance here. Unlike what _you_ did to Kurt."

Dave fought his guilt until anger boiled forth, fueling his words. "Get the fuck away from me, Puckerman!"

Puck wasn't so easily swayed. He looked from Dave's mouth to his eyes, smirking. "Say it. Say you don't want another taste of the Puckzilla-which is, like, _unheard_ of, by the way-and I'll let up." His eyes were dead serious, a weird contrast from Puck's sassy, full-of-himself expression. "Say the word, man."

The clock ticked the seconds away.

Hazel eyes remained serious, projecting some weird-ass emotions Dave couldn't put names to-he only knew how it made _him_ feel: hot and cold, bothered and comforted. _Confused._ He wasn't gay! He couldn't be…

Right?

Oblivious to or simply uncaring of Dave's existential crisis (the latter, probably) Puck's smirk amplified as he went in for the kill.


End file.
